


Entangled

by snarky_fangirl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Branding, Crowley Angst (Good Omens), Crowley is not having a good time, Curses, Demon Summoning, Established Relationship, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Spiders, Summoning Circles, ineffable boyfriends, not quite husbands but definitely, so many spiders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarky_fangirl/pseuds/snarky_fangirl
Summary: Life has continued on after the Not-Apocalypse, and Crowley was ready to share it with his beloved angel. Up until he finds himself summoned and cursed by a powerful demon, that is. Struggling with his new predicament, Crowley must now try and warn Aziraphale about the demon's sinister plans before they are both trapped in a web of deception and cruelty.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It really is the End Times, because I'm writing again! This was meant to be a little exercise to trick me into writing for school and break my awful writer's block, which has honestly helped. A little. All I think about these days is trying to figure out the next plot point or scene for this fic, which isn't great for school, but it's fun for me ^_^ Where school has been on break for two weeks and we're switching to online classes next week, I've had (and will have) a bit more free time on my hands than anticipated. With that said, I'm not going to promise any kind of consistent posting schedule, but I am going to complete this, so no worries on that front! Many, MANY thanks to my wonderful beta Mercury Starlight (WoolandWater). She is the true hero here with her awesome editing and formatting skills (go check out her stuff, it's fantastic)!

Crowley had really been enjoying life.

He and Aziraphale had finally been able to live comfortably within each other’s reach, feeling no obligation whatsoever to hide their affection for one another. The Apocalypse had gone and never existed, and neither Heaven nor Hell had come to follow up on reports regarding Overuse of Miracles or Bad Deeds of the Day in weeks. Not that they had any expectations beforehand, but the angel and demon could not have asked for a better, more hope-filled future together. They openly dined at any restaurant they wanted, whether it was posh establishments or dingy little bistros with excellent meat pies. They had been to various art galleries three times that week alone1, and Aziraphale had managed to drag Crowley to the British Library’s new exhibit on rare 12th Century illuminated manuscripts. As his angel examined a book of German psalms, Crowley worked up the courage to finally intertwine his long, definitely-not-shaking fingers between Aziraphale’s soft, delicate ones. They both had a lovely time. 

Yes, Crowley was quite happy with how everything had been working out, thanks.

At this exact moment, however… not so much.

About fifteen minutes ago, Aziraphale had been rearranging the 17th Century Hungarian authors (alphabetically and chronologically in reverse). Crowley got bored after the W’s of the 1680s and decided to go lounge on the backroom couch for a little bit. It most certainly had nothing to do with the angel shooing him away for trying to add some risqué 20th Century Portuguese poetry books into the mix2. Crowley was soaking in the gentle afternoon sunlight streaming through dust-covered windows, the warmth brushing across his face, when suddenly… 

_POP!_

Instead of soft pillows and cushions beneath him, Crowley’s back slammed down onto cold, hard concrete. 

“Ack! What the Hell–?!” Crowley adjusted his sunglasses as he tried sitting up. Before he even had the chance to get his bearings, rough hands caught hold of his arms, pulling him onto his knees. Two demons loomed over him, both at various levels of decay: a missing eye; shriveled lips; dry, taut skin; patches of thinning wiry hair. One set of hands grasped onto his left arm and the back of his neck, while the other held Crowley’s right arm straight out from his body and started shoving his shirtsleeve up past his elbow. Crowley fought against them, trying to get his feet underneath him for better leverage, but they were too strong and forced him back down. 

“Get your rotting hands off of me! Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?!” 

Before he could start cursing and really putting up a fight, a third demon approached him. He was short with greasy hair and grey, sallow skin, appearing less mummified than his colleagues but just barely. His face had a sunken look about it, as if he had once been a fairly plump man who suddenly lost a lot of weight due to the plague. What most concerned Crowley was what the corpse-like figure was clutching in its hands.

A long, red-hot branding iron.

Crowley froze. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the piece of iron moving toward him far too quickly and closely for comfort. His adrenaline decided to kick in, and he began desperately trying to wriggle free once more, but jagged fingernails only dug in deeper. A cruel hand twisted his arm, exposing underneath his forearm towards the brand. 

“No, no, no, you keep that damn thing away from me or– AHHHHHH!” 

All thought was driven from his mind as searing white heat burned the sensitive skin near his wrist. It could have only been a few seconds, but to Crowley it felt like the brand was melting its way into his skin for ages. Finally, the pain relented and the iron lifted from his arm, the cruel hands releasing him. The demon slumped down onto all fours, gasping and shaking all over. He looked at his right arm to assess the damage. A raised, angry red mark stood out from his pale skin. It was a small circle with an X in the middle, the lines extending just outside the circle. Crowley blinked. He felt like he should know that symbol…it was tugging at the back of his mind, but kept slipping away into a shadowy fog. _Aziraphale would probably know_. A part of Crowley hoped he’d be able to get out of this relatively intact enough to ask the angel about it. 

After taking a few gasping breaths to get his nerves back under control, or at least under enough control to appear less scared than he felt, Crowley looked around to finally take stock of his surroundings. He immediately noticed the intricate runes and symbols carved into the floor, encircling him: a summoning circle. That came as no surprise considering his abrupt arrival. Crowley hadn’t been summoned in a few hundred years, but it wasn't a sensation one ever forgets. Nor did it make him feel any less worried. It made it worse, in fact, considering the runes were expertly carved, and Crowley couldn’t detect the slightest mistake or error. Someone knew exactly what they were doing in summoning him. 

The room itself, Crowley noticed, was fairly small but not cramped. Everything from the walls to the ceiling were made of a smooth, cool concrete. A closed wooden door sat at the end of the rectangular room. A lone, small, barred window at the top of the wall acted as the only source of pale light. In one corner of the room, Crowley was surprised to see a small but not uncomfortable-looking bed in the corner, with a nightstand alongside it. More surprisingly, there was a flatscreen television hanging on the wall across from a fashionable chair. Some tasteful artwork hung on the walls. If Crowley didn’t know any better, he could have sworn the room looked like a miniature version of his flat, lacking only in some verdant plants. Which, again, did not make him feel any better about the situation. 

At the other corner of the room were his three assailants. They were simply standing there, staring at him. Crowley was relieved for a moment to see that the branding iron was gone, but then grew concerned about what they were waiting for. More and more, Crowley felt like he was in some serious trouble. 

The demon stood up to his fullest height3, gently cradling his right wrist close to his body. “So are you guys going to do anything more to me or just stand there like the creeps you are?” 

Why his mouth decided to say something quite so antagonizing, Crowley wasn’t sure. The situation had triggered his instinct to be a professional smartass to distract from his nerves, and there was no point in fighting it. 

The three figures said nothing and only continued to stare at him.

“Okay… Well, if you’re waiting for me to do a jig or something you’ll be waiting a long time for that. My boyfriend's more of the jigger, I prefer to stand in the back and watch.” 

Again, no response. Crowley plowed ahead anyway, relying on his usual preservation tactic of talking his way out of things. “Speaking of my boyfriend, if you think I’m not someone to mess around with, you will _not_ like it when he comes barging in through that door any minute, let me tell you. So you should just…let me go. Before you lot end up bloodied on the floor. Yep. Here he comes. Right now.” 

Not his smoothest effort, but considering the blank stares he was getting, Crowley felt like they weren’t the brightest bunch of grimy thugs around anyways. Just as he opened his mouth to keep buying time as he worked out a plan, the wooden door swung open. _Oh. Huh. That was fast._ However, instead of his beautiful, soft, and righteously angry angel, a different being entered the room. 

Much different.

“Sorry to disappoint, Crowley, but I’m afraid I’m no angel. At least, I haven’t been in a long, long time.” 

A lady-shaped person walked casually into the room, practically oozing an aura of power with each step. She was dressed in an aged, black Victorian dress with ornate black lace patterns webbing all across the dress, from the high collar, to the edges of her sleeves, to the back of the trail dragging along the floor. Her coarse hair looked like it had once been swept into an elegant bun several decades ago but had since developed large clumps of tangles and wisps of hair hung loose around her face. The door swung closed behind her. She focused cold, dark eyes on Crowley, and a sardonic smile revealed sharp, yellowed teeth. A grey wolf spider crawled out from her mouth and scurried down her neck.

Crowley felt the blood drain from his face. The small knot of worry in his stomach developed into a full-out black hole of fear and cold.

He was the prisoner of Edael, Prince of Hell.

_Shit_.

“Lord Edael! To what do I owe this…very unexpected, most high honor?” Crowley bowed with a flourish, wincing as he moved his branded wrist. He was no fool to try snarking off to such a powerful demon, especially one who seemed to have summoned and branded him in-particular. This was going to take some very quick thinking, and even more luck, to make it out alive.

“No need to act so obsequious, Crowley. That kind of kiss-ass behavior doesn’t even work on Beelzebub, why would it ever flatter me?” Edael answered cooly. As she walked, her skirt rustled as if a thousand spiders were scuttling at once. Truth was, they probably were. 

Crowley always did his best to avoid the self-proclaimed “Spider Queen”4 for millennia. Edael and Beelzebub, while both Princes of Hell, had never seen eye-to-eye on basically anything (not that demons ever do, to be honest). As one was a fly and the other a spider, there had been some rather tense eons between the two factions. Beelzebub was more bureaucratic and had to be relatively accessible to the general demon populace5. Edael was a different matter entirely. She only allowed select demons to be in her presence, and no demon ever sought her out willingly. Edael had the nasty reputation of…well, _eating_ demons, even her own entourage. Specifically, she sucked the life and energy out of them. 

Edael would surround herself with demons who showed true promise: powerful, conniving, lecherous, disgusting, and occasionally brilliant. None with Crowley’s imagination, of course, but with just enough cleverness to cause significant trouble, both on Earth and Below. Edael thrived off that kind of occult energy, demanding more and more of it to sustain her. So like the spider she was, Edael would ensnare any demon unfortunate enough to catch her attention and literally drink their essence until they were left a dry, empty husk of their former self. No spark of intelligence, no will to live. No will to do anything but serve her.

Crowley had thought he was never quite flashy or powerful enough to risk catching her attention. Apparently he was very, very wrong.

“All right then, so what's all this about? If you wanted to chat, you could have just phoned. No need to go around kidnapping and branding innocent demons.” 

Edael snorted at the word ‘innocent’. Crowley couldn’t entirely blame her. “Stopping Armageddon, thwarting the Great Plan, betraying Hell and our Lord Satan himself — your actions have eternally marked you as a traitor, Crowley. Publicly seeking you out would cost me some favor Down Below. Not to mention, this way is far more enjoyable for me.” 

A ravenous smile crept across her face, making Crowley grow even colder inside. She began slowly pacing back and forth in front of him.

“Really though, I do have to give you immense credit. Not many demons would dare to even think about going against the Forces of Evil only to live a sad, pathetic life on this planet with an even sadder disgraced angel. Plus, when I heard that you held a flaming pile of metal together through sheer force of will and imagination and are immune to _holy water_ … Well.” She stopped right in front of him and wet her lips with a blackened tongue. “I simply couldn’t resist a chat.” 

Crowley forced down a grimace. It was bad enough she knew about him and Aziraphale, he didn’t dare tell her that he actually wasn’t immune to holy water, even as a means to look less impressive. That would solve nothing. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow and folded his arms as he shifted his body weight to look as cool and collected as he pretended to be. 

“If you heard about that whole deal with the holy water, then you must’ve also heard that I am to be left. Alone. Everything you’ve done here is the exact opposite of that. So tell me what you want before I use my oh-so-impressive imagination and waltz right out that door.” 

Acting with that much bravado was a risky move, but Crowley didn’t care. He was likely as good as dead anyway; might as well go down with some dignity.

“Mmm, that is exactly what I like to hear,” Edael said smugly. “Reckless abandon for your well-being and tempting death.” She stepped closer to Crowley, sniffing the air mere inches from his nose. “It’s positively…delicious.” Edael wriggled her shoulders and sighed at the thought, as if she had eaten a favorite delicacy. It was like a demented, twisted image of Aziraphale. Crowley’s heart ached at the thought.

“But you’re right, Crowley. You are to be left alone. Even I wouldn’t dare go against Beelzebub’s orders on that. I do have to ask, though, how long is it all going to last? You’re safe for now, but you and I both know that it won’t be much longer before you start getting paranoid, obsessing over when Hell will come after you and your dear lover-boy.” Edael started pacing again, this time circling around Crowley. “What if I could offer you security, some peace of mind?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. _Here comes her typical sales pitch of death_. 

“Swear fealty to me, and I guarantee that you will be pardoned of treason and welcomed back into the hordes of Hell.” 

“Pass.”

Edael tutted. “So hasty to decide, snake. You didn’t even let me finish my big speech.”

“No need. Can’t and won’t change my mind. I know what you do to your little groupies, and I’ve no interest in becoming your mindless puppet. I’ll worry about Hell myself whenever that comes up. I'll use my big brains and imagination like always. And why would I ever want to be welcomed back into Hell when I am perfectly happy with my ‘sad, boring life’ up here, or whatever you called it?”

“We’d make quite the hellish Power Couple, I must say. No one would ever dare come after a Lord of Hell who is both immune to holy water and under my protection. Not even that idiot Hastur. You wouldn’t even have to abandon your worthless position here on Earth, just accompany me on certain…business affairs. Mere formalities, nothing more.”

Crowley suddenly caught on to her angle. “You need a piece of arm candy to intimidate Beelzebub off the throne so you can take over. You think that having someone clever and powerful like me will intimidate old Beez-y into finally bowing down to you.” Crowley risked a laugh, “Ha! To you, I’m just a piece of brilliant, glorious ass, that’s what I am! Can’t really blame you, though. I mean, these trousers certainly do a lot of favors to what God gave me.” He cocked an eyebrow and flashed her a sly grin. “The answer is still no. No chance in Heaven, Hell, or any other plane of existence.”

Edael stared at him, contemplating. Crowley waited for her to say something else, convince him why he should sell his already damned soul to her. But she stayed quiet. Eventually she narrowed her eyes and sighed. “Alright then. If that is how you feel about it, Crowley, I cannot force you to join me.” Her voice was level and cool, with a threatening edge to it.

Crowley stiffened. This was it. His bravado—counting on whatever luck the immunity to holy water stunt had gained him—failed gloriously. She was about to suck the life force out of his head like a seven year-old downing a cherry slurpee. The demon braced himself for his final, quite potentially painful moments. He could only think about how devastated Aziraphale was going to be.

Edael stepped aside and raised an inviting arm toward the door. “You are free to leave. There’s nothing keeping you here.” 

“I uh – nngh – mhk– wait, _what_?”

“That is only a summoning circle, not a holding circle. You could have walked out that door the moment you got here.” Edael’s face was neutral and open. 

Considering the speed of her goons grabbing ahold of him, Crowley doubted he could have made his escape that quickly. But something was not right here. It had to be a trap. There was no possible way that he was about to just saunter through the doorway after being captured by a Prince of Hell, by the Spider Queen no less. Crowley blinked. Despite his apprehensions, Edael seemed to be telling the truth. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t actually felt any power constraining him within the circle. However, that didn’t mean something wasn’t waiting to kill or maim him as soon as he stepped through the doorway. Whatever was waiting for him out there, Crowley reasoned, he had a far better chance of surviving it than remaining so close to Edael. 

He took a tentative step out of the summoning circle. He glanced over at the three deathly-still figures standing quietly in the corner, then locked eyes with Edael. He cautiously made his way towards the door. Edael's face never changed from its neutral expression. A few spiders crawled out from her hair and crossed over her lips. As he grabbed hold of the door handle, Crowley saw the Prince’s eyes flash dangerously, practically gleeful. Steeling himself, he opened the door and walked over the threshold. 

Nothing happened.

All Crowley saw was a run-down hallway, probably a storage unit of some sort, with a flickering yellow light above head. He didn’t sense any other evil presence lurking out of sight. There was no monster. No hordes of demons waiting to pile on top of him and drag him down to the darkest pit in Hell. There was only him, miraculously walking towards his freedom. 

Crowley had only taken one step into the hallway when he must have tripped on a nail or a bunched up rug or something. He found himself falling down very, very quickly, the floor coming up to meet him equally fast. He tried to reach his hands out to catch him. They didn’t. _Oof_! he thought as his face smacked into the concrete, his breath knocked out of him. Crowley winced, closing his eyes to block out the too-bright light. _Huh, that’s weird_. His eyes didn’t seem to want to close properly. It seemed his legs weren’t working either, since Crowley was having a difficult time sitting back up. That’s when the whole world shifted, and he realized what had happened. 

Crowley, for some inexplicable reason, had changed into his snake form. 

Panic swept through him. He had purposefully avoided shifting into a snake for hundreds of years, maybe even a thousand. He always worried about forgetting how to shift back into human form, and decided to avoid that issue altogether by never reverting back to his original state. Plus it would have been far more difficult to get drunk (or hold hands) with an angel if he had no opposable thumbs. Why he would instinctively choose now of all times to turn into a large red and black snake, Crowley couldn't say. He didn’t have time to worry about it. All he wanted was to _get out_ and find Aziraphale, warn him about Edael being in town. He imagined having arms and legs and snakeskin shoes and his expensive wristwatch as hard as he could, trying to shift back. But something was stopping him, like a brick wall restricting access to himself. Crowley simply could not change back. His panic began taking over a bit more now, and the demon decided he’d have to worry about it later. He just had to leave. _Now_. He slithered across the cold floor as fast as he could when the pointed heel of Edael’s boot bored down on the middle of his back.

“Now, now, Crowley. You can’t leave quite yet. I forgot to mention a few more things before you crawl away.”

One pair of cruel fingers grasped Crowley’s middle, while more fingers clamped down painfully right behind his jaw. He couldn’t move his head, but the rest of his body writhed and squirmed, making it as difficult for Edael to carry him as possible. It didn’t work—she only tightened her grip even more and was starting to cut off his airway—but he had to give it a shot. He tried yelling at her, but his words only came out as angry hisses. That was the most concerning part, if he was being honest. Crowley had always been able to talk in snake form. Why couldn’t he say anything now?

“Back in you go, there’s a good snake,” Edael said before she unceremoniously tossed him back into the room. 

Crowley landed on his back near the summoning circle, crying out as his long, bony limbs flailed about. He had somehow managed to shift back into his human self mid-flight. 

“What the bloody hell is going on?!?” 

Crowley quickly scrambled to stand back up, sunglasses askew. He placed his right hand along the wall to steady himself, from both trying to catch his breath and feeling disoriented about having two legs again so soon after having momentarily lost them. 

“You forgot to ask the golden question, Crowley,” Edael replied smoothly, walking towards him. A hint of a smile tugged at her lips, and her eyes glowed maliciously. 

“And what blessed question is that?” He snarled.

“Funny how it didn't seem to occur to you to ask about that mark on your wrist. You were so eager to leave that you didn't even give me a chance to explain the rules of the game here.”

Crowley’s heart sunk lower, which was saying something at this point. He really had forgotten all about it once Edael said he was “free”. He glanced down at the brand mark again, noting that the pain had calmed down to a dull ache. 

“That is my sigil, carrying a curse of my own making. Sealed with a…well, not with a kiss, but close. Had quite a fun time crafting it, I must say.” She strode closer to him, towering over his hunched body. 

Crowley didn’t even try to disguise the fear in his voice at this point. He felt like he knew the answer, and he didn’t want to actually hear it, but he had to ask. “Wh-what kind of curse?”

Edael grinned. “Every time you leave this room, you will revert into your original snake form. You cannot shift back into a human, you cannot speak, and you will not have access to your full powers. You will be as ordinary of a snake as you can be, all things considered given your demonic nature. Don’t worry, the humans won’t take notice of you. I don’t need someone bashing in that pretty, _brilliant_ head of yours or locking you up in some crate. I cannot even guarantee whether that dumb angel of yours will recognize you. Who knows?”

Crowley was on the verge of hyperventilating at this point. 

“However. The moment you enter back into this rather cozy room I have set up for you—when you return to me—you can shift back into a human shape and have your powers completely reinstated. Of course—” with fingers as cold as the darkest abyss in Hell, she forced Crowley’s chin up so he had to stare directly at her. “—the curse will immediately be broken once you agree to serve me.”

The demon glared at her. “Why?" he asked through clenched teeth, "Why even bother letting me out of here? Why not just force me to stay, torture me until I agree to become your puppet?”

A soft yet hateful smile crept across her face.“Hmm. Because you are a traitor and this is what you deserve. Because I was looking forward to the End Times. Because I’ve grown bored with my current entourage.” 

Edael grabbed hold of his sunglasses and flicked them to the other side of the room. Her dark eyes bored into his wide golden ones. Rank, musty breath brushed against Crowley’s cheeks as she whispered, “Because I like to play with my food.”

Crowley couldn’t hold back a full-body shudder at those last words. Heaven only knew how he wasn’t completely falling apart right now. 

The Prince stood tall and adjusted her long sleeves, straightening them over her skeletal wrists, prim and proper. “One last thing, and then I’ll leave you to think things over. If you do somehow manage to get his attention and try to tell the angel about what’s happening to you, I will naturally have to step in and…eliminate the problem. Personally. Not that I’m worried about some weak Principality, but I don’t need Heaven or Hell catching wind of my little plan here. Nor do you need the distraction of an angel hanging around you while you’re in my service.” 

The poor demon could only stare numbly at her. He refused to believe that Aziraphale wouldn’t even recognize him, snake or not. He simply _could not_ accept it.

“You’ll be hearing from me soon, serpent. Don’t want you forgetting about what an impressive opportunity I'm offering you. Until then, relax! Watch some television programs, take a nap." Edael smirked at him. "Or slither about town and chase down some mice for dinner.” 

Upon hearing that, Crowley’s brain and mouth finally started working properly again.

“Fuck off.”

Edael’s smile only widened, seemingly pleased with this show of defiance. She looked over at her three mute, decaying servants. With a loud snap of her fingers, they instantly stood at attention, looking at her as if awaiting orders. She flicked her wrist, and they began sinking into the floor. Or, Crowley thought that they were sinking. He then realized that they were actually disintegrating, turning into hundreds of thousands of small black spiders, running and scuttling across the floor and into the shadows. Crowley yelped and all but leapt up onto the bed to avoid being overrun by them. When the spiders had disappeared, he looked back to where the Prince of Hell had been standing. She was gone. 

Crowley curled his knees up into his chest and sunk his head down. He felt very alone, and so very scared. 

* * *

1\. The Courtauld Gallery was a particular favorite of theirs.  [Back]

2\. “Crowley, for the last time, would you please go ferment your discord somewhere else for a bit? That’s a dear.” [Back]

3\. No harm in trying to intimidate his much smaller captors. [Back]

4\. A title he always felt was a bit on-the-nose, but it worked. [Back]

5\. Scheduling an audience with Beelzebub was only marginally more inconsistent and nightmarish than Aziraphale’s business hours. [Back]


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley wasn’t sure how long he sat there on the bed, trying to get his breath down to a normal pace, waiting for his head to stop feeling like it was simultaneously frozen and on fire. Despite his panicked state, he never cried. He figured he must have been too stressed to bother with that bodily function. Crowley wasn’t necessarily thinking of anything—couldn’t focus, for starters—he only had Edael’s voice echoing through his mind; the words “curse” and “snake” and “Aziraphale” playing on an endless loop. He felt emotionally and physically numb. 

“Of course this had to happen to me, when I was just starting to enjoy myself,” Crowley muttered. “Of course the bloody Prince of bloody Hell had to go and ruin the one good thing I had in life. And now Aziraphale is on her radar and there’s no way I can warn him…” He sighed. “Oh, angel, what am I gonna do?”

Crowley pictured his angel’s beatific face: beaming, round, positively fluffy. The image of perfection. And Crowley was lucky enough to have the angel’s unadulterated love and affection. Six thousand years plus a canceled apocalypse was more than worth the wait to have his feelings openly reciprocated. The demon’s breath hitched. Crowley couldn’t properly sit at a dinner table, eating grilled tilapia and sipping white wine, with Aziraphale anymore. They couldn’t go for long, leisurely strolls through St. James, laughing and reminiscing about their times walking among humanity through the millennia. He couldn’t cup his angel’s perfect face in his hands in the solitude of their bedroom. Crowley’s heart twisted and broke all over again.

The next time he saw Crowley, Aziraphale might not even recognize him as a snake.

Maybe. 

No. 

No, that wouldn’t happen. Crowley was still stubbornly fighting that obtrusive thought. He refused to let Edael win her dumb little game so quickly, a game Crowley was very likely to lose in the end. Realistically, he wouldn’t even win a consolation prize for Most Promising Effort.

He needed a plan. A damn good one, and fast.

“I could always agree to Edael’s terms,” Crowley mused half-heartedly. “Figuring out how to get out of this mess will be a whole lot easier outside of this room and if I’m not a snake most of the time.” He let his thoughts wander into the realm of impossibility. “Who knows, it might not be so bad, being paraded around Hell as her boy-toy for the rest of eternity…” Crowley’s stomach churned at the potential reality of that scenario. No, he would have to figure something else out. 

His thoughts then trailed to Edael’s three followers, how they had made their exit. “Would I fall apart into a million little spiders, too? Or would it be snakes?” He frowned. “Some sort of snake-spider hybrid?”1 Crowley groaned and rubbed his hands across his face. He remembered just how lifeless and decrepit the figures were. They were once demons, as alive and intelligent as Crowley, with agency and powers of their own. Now they were only husks, literal shells of their former selves. If Crowley agreed to serve Edael, that would be his fate. It may take a few hundred years to get there, and terribly long years, at that. But after everything had been drained out of him—his imagination, his swagger, his love for a bastard of an angel—then would come an eternity of emptiness and slavery. 

He simply could and would not accept that fate.

Crowley had not survived the Apocalypse—averting a war that would have ended up killing him, killing Aziraphale, or potentially killing them both—just so some overly dramatic spider in a skirt could swoop in and start bossing him around. 

What he really needed right now was Aziraphale’s advice. Crowley was clever and could be quick on his feet2, but it was the angel who had the intelligence and patience of the pair. He would be able to sort out some brilliant solution to everything 3. His angel would be the one to swoop in and save the day this time, with Crowley acting as the damsel in distress. The tricky part was how he was going to communicate his problem to Aziraphale with enough information to protect him from Edael. There would also be the whole part about communicating in general.

Crowley would figure that out, though. It’d be fine. 

“Right, then.”

Deciding he had sulked on the bed for long enough, Crowley got up. He walked over to where Edael had tossed his sunglasses, wiping off a few cobwebs her hand must have left behind, and put them back on with a flare. 

He may not have any solid plan at the moment, but Crowley needed to get back to the bookshop. It solved nothing sitting around in this room 4 all day, and truth be told, he wanted to see his angel, to hold him and be held in whatever manner possible. That said, there was no way Crowley was going to slither all the way to the bookshop, especially considering he had no idea where he was. Edael said that he could still use his magic in this room, so he figured he should be able to transport himself out of it and get at least marginally close to Soho. Crowley raised his hand.

_Snap!_

He stayed right where he was.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me…” Crowley snapped repeatedly, each time with more fervor and determination. Still nothing. 

He began to wonder if Edael had actually been bluffing about letting him keep his powers. He snapped one more time. A small, leafy potted plant5 appeared on the nightstand, and the simple grey bedcovers changed into a luxurious black comforter. Crowley grumbled and pulled a disappointed face. Apparently his powers worked just fine, so long as it was directed towards things within this room. Trying to manipulate anything outside of its confines seemed to be off-limits. He was going to have to make his way to Aziraphale the extremely long, slithery way. 

“Great. Just bloody fantastic. I swear, if she’s put me all the way in blessed Manchester, I‘m gonna kill her.” Which, quite frankly, he wanted to do anyway. 

Crowley sauntered towards the door and swung it open. He stared out into the empty hallway, his nerve and bravado slipping. No matter how much he wanted to get out of there and find his angel, the thought of having no powers, and worse yet being trapped in his snake form, was daunting. Frankly, it was terrifying. Once upon a time, eons ago, he had enjoyed being a snake: sitting on warm rocks, terrorizing village children (with no intention of causing any real harm, of course), sneaking into cramped places to spy on a certain Ethereal Adversary. But as time stretched on, as he spent more time with the humans and Aziraphale, Crowley became more comfortable with two legs than none. He grew more nervous about people trampling him. Not to mention the whole bit over whether or not he could ever change back into his human form. The very idea that as soon as he stepped through that door he couldn’t change back, that he was willingly surrendering his agency, his powers, _his voice_ … It was one of Crowley’s worst nightmares come true.

But he had no other choice. Not if he wanted to see his angel again.

Steeling himself, Crowley drew a deep breath. He exhaled as he stepped across the threshold. 

Shifting into a snake went much smoother this time around, since he knew what to expect. It was still a strange sensation, but it wasn't all that uncomfortable, merely unfamiliar. He wished he could have had the courage to try it on his own years ago, building up a tolerance for being a snake, potentially with Aziraphale close by for moral support. But beggars6 can’t be choosers. It was, however, fairly unsettling to have his perspective changed so much, being so much closer to the ground than mere seconds before. He also noticed the slight oppressive feeling preventing him from using any sort of powers or changing back. 

_That part’s new_ , Crowley thought, very grumpily. _And it’s something I don’t plan on getting used to_. 

Crowley worked his way down the hallway and turned right. This part of the facility had much better lighting and felt cleaner, less decrepit. _The spider must have affected that whole section just for show, to scare me_. Crowley rolled his eyes the best he could. Thankfully no one was around to see a seven foot-long snake wind its way through the building. Crowley started to relax—just a little—settling into the graceful back-and-forth movement of a snake. His usual walking gait was always a bit snake-ish, but it was never as comfortable as gliding across the ground in this form. _Maybe if I had_ chosen _to be a snake right now, I’d actually be enjoying this_. 

He found his way down several long, narrow halls and various turns before finally coming to the front lobby. Oddly enough, no one was sitting at the front desk. There was only an out-of-date computer, a cheap looking telephone, and a mug of coffee. The facility was not completely abandoned, then, but Crowley absently wondered whether the employee had simply gone out to lunch or had the unfortunate honor of meeting Edael. Before he could imagine the human’s fate, Crowley discovered he had a much more pressing issue: 

The front door.

Who would have ever thought that a simple, pull-to-open, glass and steel-frame door could cause a demon, the Inventor of Sin Itself, to groan (or, rather, hiss) as loudly as Crowley did at that moment? Crowley certainly never had. He'd always had the upper body strength and appendages to not give any door a second thought. 

This time, however, he would have to get creative. 

A few dozen particular swear words across multiple dead languages and ten minutes later, Crowley finally managed to master the door. It was all a matter of getting the timing right between yanking the door handle hard enough, and then slithering quickly through the small opening before the door closed and banged into the snake’s sensitive —and at this point rather abused—jaw. It was certainly a low point in Crowley’s long life, but it was also one of his proudest moments7. 

Once he got past the door, Crowley winced. The sun was still shining as brightly and cheerily as it had when he'd been lounging in the bookshop. That was perfect for napping indoors while wearing sunglasses, but less so for his more sensitive, serpentine eyes. At least it was warm and Crowley wouldn’t have to slither around in a downpour. Looking around, he found himself in a barren parking lot surrounded by several worn-down warehouses. Crowley flicked his tongue out to get a better sense of where he was8. There was a familiar tang to the air. _Oh thank Lucifer, I’m still in London_. The snake sighed, immediately less worried. He couldn’t tell where exactly in the city Edael had hidden him away, but he could work with that. 

He wound his way down a nearby alleyway towards what he sensed was a main road. The growing hubbub of people talking and cars driving past was a strange yet welcome sensation, emphasizing just how silent the empty parking lot had been. Crowley tasted the air once more. Among the concoction of human emotions9 mixed with exhaust fumes, he tried to pinpoint a very specific scent… _There!_ It was faint, but Crowley always recognized the chamomile-and-dust-and-specially-crafted-cologne aroma that was so beautifully perfect and so distinctly Aziraphale. 

_Alright, angel, give me a minute to get to you, and then maybe we can find a way to get me out of this whole mess without either one of us dying, eh?_

Absolutely no one noticed a large black-and-red snake moving in between people’s legs and speeding bicycles as it slowly made its way towards Soho.

* * *

“There! All finished!” Aziraphale sat back on his heels, examining the rewards of his hard work. Rearranging his Hungarian collection had always been on his to-do list, but other matters always took precedence over it. After the Apocalypse and the short-lived scare of having lost all of his books, Aziraphale decided now was as good a time as any to finally tackle the project. It would have gone by faster with Crowley’s help, certainly, but the angel did not mind spending a few quiet hours alone with his treasured possessions. Speaking of his demon, Crowley had been quiet for some time now. Almost too quiet. 

“Must be taking a nap, dear heart. Although, it is lunchtime, and we have a reservation to keep.” 

The angel stood up, brushing the dust off of his pants and adjusted his waistcoat. He made his way to the back of the bookshop, where he knew Crowley had deposited himself all over the antique sofa. 

“Darling, you had best wake up or else they’re going to give our table away,” Aziraphale said loudly, knowing full-well that no such thing would ever happen if he had any say in the matter. He expected Crowley to say as much when Aziraphale entered the room, but the demon remained quiet. The angel frowned. Said demon was nowhere to be seen. 

“Crowley? Are you here, love?” 

Aziraphale went back into the bookshop, doing a quick look-over down the aisles of books. He went halfway up the stairs, calling for Crowley. Nothing. Aziraphale’s brow creased ever so slightly in worry, but his worries seemed to fade away almost instantly. Heaven and Hell were most certainly not in the picture anymore, so Aziraphale had no real reason for concern about Crowley’s disappearance. 

“Maybe he simply… ran off to his flat for a quick moment. Lord knows he’s hardly there any more, his plants certainly need the attention.” Yes, that must be it. Now was a strange time for some light gardening, but Crowley was a particularly anxious, absent-minded demon at times. When a thought entered his mind he would often act upon it immediately, especially when it came to mundane tasks like watering his plants or miracling a cup of tea for Aziraphale. 

A sense of calm washed through him, pushing aside any remnants of concern from the angel’s mind. Which should have been odd, since Aziraphale had been worried about Crowley’s well-being since around The Flood. However, the feeling was so novel, so nice, the angel didn’t resist it at all. He wasn’t even concerned about not being concerned.

Aziraphale chuckled at himself as he imagined what Crowley would say to him at this moment. _“Really, angel, you worry far too much for your own good. You worry any more, and you’ll discorporate from using that lovely brain of yours too much. Then you’d be in a real mess, that’s for sure.”_ Aziraphale considered giving Crowley’s cell a quick ring, but then again, the demon could show up at any minute now. That would definitely come off as desperate and clingy. 

It was fine. There was absolutely nothing to worry about. Crowley would show up at some point or another, Aziraphale was sure about that. 

“Well, there’s no use sitting anxiously by the door fretting. Idle hands and all that.” He walked towards another bookcase and clapped his hands together. “Now. How about I tackle those pesky Russian philosophers, hm?” 

* * *

_The things I do for you, ange_ l. Crowley grumbled internally, somehow managing to force himself forward a few more feet. _The things I do for love._

Crowley had finally made it to the bookshop. It took what felt like countless hours, but he got there. Really, it had only been about an hour, yet with rogue bike messengers, school children on outings, and one very aggressive motorist, the ragged snake’s life had flashed before his eyes often enough that his perspective of time was skewed. The humans never noticed him (thank Satan for that), but there was still quite a lot of him that could be stepped on, run over, and whatever else all over him. It was either a surprise or a miracle that no one took a second look to see what they had just tripped over. The heat that had started out so lovely only got worse. Crowley swore the temperature was nearing Sahara Desert levels9 the entire time as he crawled along, and he was parched by the time he got to Brewer Street. His muscles, and thus entire body, ached terribly. Some places were starting to spasm. Seeing the old bookshop appear in the distance was like a healing balm for his old, damned soul. Flicking out his tongue, Crowley could taste the heavenly grace radiating from the building. It burned a little, but in a good way, like a spicy curry. 

Crowley weaved his way to the front door. Recalling his earlier attempts with the storage facility’s door, he considered his options. Option 1: He could try tapping on the door’s glass window with his tail. _But he could be in the upstairs flat or with his nose stuck in a book. No way he’s going to hear me, even if I’m out here for the rest of the day._ Option 2: He could just open the door himself. Considering how long it took him last time, and the door was likely locked, Crowley shelved that idea as a last resort. Option 3: He could wait and slither in with a customer. _Ha. I needed a good laugh today._ Option 4: …Well, there had to be an Option 4 somewhere around here… The snake craned his neck every which way to look for anything he could use to his advantage. 

_That should work._

Up on the second floor, a window for what should be the washroom was open just a few inches. Aziraphale enjoyed the crisp, fresh air in the flat, citing, “Healthful fresh air does wonders for the soul,” as an adequate explanation to quell Crowley’s grumbling about the cold. It would be a tight squeeze, but Crowley could manage. He’d wriggled his way through tighter spots before. The matter of the window being a good fifteen feet above the street was no issue. He had climbed up the impressive Eastern Wall in Eden easily enough; a simple brick wall should be no different for the demon. As he slithered up, paying no mind to physics or gravity, Crowley relished the dark, cool bricks underneath his scales. It felt positively lovely and rejuvenating. 

_Almost there, angel…_

* * *

Aziraphale hummed no particular song as he carried an armful of books from one bookcase to another. He was being quite productive this afternoon, more than he had been in a long time. Why was that again…? Well, never mind. What was important was finishing up this last shelf before making some tea and a light lunch, since Crowley apparently had other things to do. Which—Aziraphale was only slightly surprised to find himself musing—was absolutely fine. Crowley was not bound to Aziraphale, he was not forced to spend every waking minute in the angel’s presence. He could do as he pleased, whenever and with whoever he chose. Especially when Aziraphale got in a cleaning mood and did not appreciate any distractions. 

The angel set the books down on the floor in front of a newly emptied and dusted bookcase. He filed them in the correct arrangement, then re-corrected them to better suit his fancy. After a good half-hour or so of working his way down the shelves, something long and solid brushed against his ankle. He quickly glanced down to see what it was, and he thought he almost spotted something large and black… but no. It was only a shadow. Shrugging, the angel went back to work. 

He felt it again a moment later, and then one more time. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He still didn’t see anything.

“Maybe this old corporation really does need glasses,” he wondered aloud.

Aziraphale continued on with his work, his humming getting louder. Suddenly one of the larger books at the top of the bookcase fell down with a solid thud. Aziraphale jumped. 

“Good heavens, what was that?”

He looked up and hurriedly stepped back, just in time to avoid a cascade of books falling right where his head had been. 

“Maybe we’re having an earthquake,” Aziraphale pondered. “It has been some time since I’ve been in one. Of course, that was on a different continent, and London isn't known for its earthquakes. But stranger things have certainly happened. I wouldn’t put it past this old planet to have some lingering abnormal phenomena after all of that Armageddon nonsense.”

The angel placed several more books on the shelf in front of him.

* * *

Crowley wanted to scream and tear his hair out. Unfortunately neither option was readily available to him.

_Great festering BOLLOCKS, angel! What does it take for a snake to get your attention around here?!?_

It shouldn’t be this hard! Crowley was sure the angel would have noticed his thumping along, making as much noise as his very long body could make as he descended the stairs into the bookshop. That clearly didn’t happen. Next, Crowley had slithered all over Aziraphale’s feet and legs, and for a brief moment he thought the angel had seen him, but those hopes were quickly dashed. Crowley wound his way up to the very top shelf and wriggled in-between the back of the bookcase and all of those blasted books, pushing them off as a means to hit his love on the head. But even as he poked his head down to stare Aziraphale right in his face… absolutely nothing. Didn’t even glance at the pair of golden eyes desperately staring down at him. Whenever he swerved his head to better make eye contact, Aziraphale would look in the opposite direction. And then the idiot angel started talking about earthquakes, of all the bloody things! 

_This isn’t working. He can’t see me._

Crowley fought desperately to keep calm, forcing his breath to remain steady and not get out of control, to not let his throat constrict from panic. None of that was happening, nope. Not at all. Edael couldn’t possibly win this one. She wouldn’t. Crowley refused to give in to his fear. He fought against the oppressive feeling constraining his powers, wishing desperately to shift into his human form. He wanted to grab hold of the angel’s shoulders and shake him, yelling, “It’s me! I’m here! Just _please_ , look at me!” 

Aziraphale continued to shelve and rearrange his books, not a care or worry, completely lost in his own beautiful world. Crowley thought he had never looked quite so endearing. Something stirred in his heart, bringing everything back into focus.

_Alright._

_Fine._

_If that’s how things are going to be, then I have no other option here._

Crowley twisted his body up into a tightly wound coil at the back of the shelf, preparing to lunge…

* * *

Aziraphale bent over to pick up the fallen books from the dusty floor, cradling them all in his arm. Something felt very off to him about the strange nudging feeling across his feet and now the books tumbling off of their shelves. But he simply could not place what exactly felt wrong. As he tried to track that thought down a particularly foggy and narrow passageway in his mind, he noticed movement from above him. The angel barely had time to register what was happening:

A large red-and-black snake, with bulging yellow eyes and a gaping mouth full of poisonous fangs, was diving right at him. 

If Aziraphale had a moment longer, he would have noticed that the snake was not so much attacking him as much as it looked like it had accidentally tripped on the edge of the bookshelf and then proceeded to tumble not-so-gracefully on top of him. 

The angel cried out more in surprise than actual alarm. He was cut off by the snake’s heavy, writhing coils landing all across his head and shoulders, knocking him flat on his back to the floor. 

_“Oof!”_

The snake hissed in panic. 

Aziraphale felt dazed and very winded. He shook his head, trying to orient himself properly. The snake had somehow managed to tangle itself all around his arms, neck, and stomach. So far it hadn’t tried constricting itself to cut off his breathing, and it hadn’t tried to bite him, either. The poor creature looked as startled as the angel felt. It was staring intently, almost manically, into his eyes. Rich golden eyes boring into icy blue ones. 

Aziraphale blinked.

There was something so familiar about those warm, frighteningly gorgeous eyes…

“…It that you, Crowley? Darling, what are you doing in my bookcase?”

* * *

1\. Crowley was not there at the time, but this monstrosity was a short-lived yet terrifying experiment in Hell for several decades. No one liked it.  [Back]

2\. Which was why he was even in this mess.[Back]

3\. Crowley was choosing not to recall Aziraphale’s rather foolish plans surrounding the Apocalypse. Those were extreme circumstances.[Back]

4\. Cell, really.[Back]

5\. A galaxy false aralia, for the interested reader; it is a lovely, happy little plant that deserves more recognition.[Back]

6\. Or snakes, in this instance.[Back]

7\. Though he would never, ever admit that to anyone, and if they ever did find out, they would not exist for long afterwards.[Back]

8\. A handy perk to being a demonic snake; tasting his location during Earth’s early days had helped him get out of some tricky situations involving merchants with very large bags who liked kidnapping innocent, exotic snakes.[Back]

9\. Jealousy and disgruntlement were particularly potent.[Back]

10\. It was not.[Back]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I do have a galaxy false aralia, thank you for asking. His name is Bentley, and there is a little plastic black snake that lives in him. I love my Bentley.
> 
> Thank you all so so much for reading this! It is so incredibly appreciated!! <3 <3 <3 And as always, a million thanks to my beta Mercury Starlight (WoolandWater) for polishing up these chapters ^_^
> 
> Stay happy, healthy, and safe everyone!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to pick up for our Ineffable Lovers…
> 
> As always, so much love and appreciate for my beta, Mercury Starlight (WoolandWater) <3 <3 <3

Crowley could have melted into a puddle of relief and exhaustion upon hearing Aziraphale’s voice. He had wondered whether hurtling himself at the angel’s face would actually work, even if it didn’t go exactly as anticipated. Feeling the rise and fall of Aziraphale’s stomach, the solidness of his wonderful curves underneath Crowley’s scales, flooded his whole body with relief. The exhaustion from his journey to the bookshop, the anxiety and fear of his confrontation with Edael, it all seemed to be swept away merely by being in the angel’s presence. Crowley surrendered to the feeling. He lightly constricted all around Aziraphale in the closest equivalent to an embrace he could do. He nuzzled his nose against the curve of Aziraphale’s neck, deeply wishing that he could actually kiss him. 

Aziraphale brought a hand up to stroke the snake’s head. “You really quite startled me, Crowley. I had no idea you were even here in the bookshop. You’ve been so quiet for so long, I thought you had some errands that needed your attention. Really, though, lashing out at me like that seems a bit extreme. There are much more subtle yet equally effective ways at getting my attention, dear.” 

Crowley, having relaxed so much as to have a lapse in memory, began to retort by saying, _“I bloody well tried, angel. You were being a bit oblivious and thick at the time, and you couldn’t even see past the covers of your damned books.”_. Unfortunately, all of that got trapped in his throat, and only a few choked hissing noises got out. _Oh… right…_ His heart started to sink once again. 

Aziraphale didn’t seem to actually notice the strange sounds, or if he did he gave no indication that it bothered him. Instead, he shifted up onto his elbows and looked down at Crowley, a bemused expression on his face. “Darling, why didn’t you tell me you were going to start shifting back into your wily, serpentine form? Did you want to surprise me?” 

Crowley stared up at his love’s face, at a loss for words. Literally. _This is going to be much harder than I thought._ He tilted his head to the side and hissed softly. At this, Aziraphale’s brow furrowed, finally showing some concern. His hand froze on Crowley’s back.

“Crowley, are you alright?”

The snake shook his head.

For a brief moment, Crowley saw rising concern and alarm flash in the angel’s eyes. Though as quickly as it came, it left, replaced by a calm, almost neutral look. It was not all that dissimilar to the expression he wore while Crowley was trying to get his attention earlier. Crowley sighed, fairly disappointed. _Guess the curse is still affecting him after all. At least he can see me now._

Aziraphale tutted and gave a half-smile as he asked, “Did the dreaded Serpent of Eden forget how to speak in his attempt to impress me with his rediscovered demonic shape?”

Crowley resented the implication behind Aziraphale’s words, the suggestion that he had messed up, compounded by the fact that he couldn’t actually correct him—all the snake could do was nod. It was about as good of an explanation as Crowley could give anyway, not without putting Aziraphale at risk of knowing about the curse. 

The angel chuckled warmly and resumed stroking Crowley’s scales. “Well, no matter. Things could get quite noisy with you around, always talking about your dastardly deeds for the week. The quiet will be a welcome change for a bit. The Wicked One and his evil ways must be silenced, you know.”

At his teasings, Crowley tightened even more around Aziraphale and playfully bit his hand. 

“Ow! Well! With that sort of behavior, I’m afraid there is no option but to vanquish you myself immediately.”

Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s jaw and brought his head closer to the angel’s face. He placed a gentle kiss between Crowley’s eyes, and then another on his snout. The snake nudged his head forward, reciprocating the sentiment the best he could. The angel’s petting was soothing and grounding, banishing the remnants of Crowley’s frayed nerves. Crowley was still worried about the curse and the looming threat of Edael finding and hurting his angel, but he was beginning to think more clearly. As they had both learned during the Apocalypse, everything turned out alright in the end when he and Aziraphale were together.

Eventually Crowley loosened his grip around Aziraphale’s body. Flicking out his forked tongue, he could taste the angel’s love and contentment1 in the air. Aziraphale began shifting underneath the heavy coils, crossing his legs and sitting upright. 

“Well, my dear, I believe that I can consider you properly vanquished.” He gathered up the lower half of Crowley into his arms as he stood up. Crowley wrapped more securely around the angel’s forearms, appreciating how easily and firmly Aziraphale held him. It was always a welcome reminder of just how strong his angel was. 

As he began walking, the angel continued, “Now. What would you say to a late lunch? I’m willing to forgo our reservation just this once, considering you went through all the hard work of making such a show about being a snake again. I cannot ask you to transform back right now, not when I find you simply stunning like this.” 

Crowley blinked, completely taken aback by this. Not that he had ever felt particularly ugly or slimy or unappealing as a snake, but he was always a bit self-conscious about it whenever he was around Aziraphale. He’d always assumed that seeing his natural demonic form made the angel nervous about being in the presence of something so unnatural, so evil. Plus, over the years Crowley found that human fashions were beginning to look quite stylish on him2. He had no idea that Aziraphale actually liked how he looked as a snake, let alone that he would look so besotted at Crowley’s black-and-red scales. Crowley wasn’t sure how to process this new information other than to freeze up and say… well, nothing3. Aziraphale’s steady footsteps up the stairs to the flat brought Crowley back to his senses. He wrapped his way around Aziraphale’s neck, nuzzling along the angel’s soft cheek. Crowley had never felt safer.

They made their way to the kitchen. Aziraphale pulled out various breads and condiments to make himself a cranberry-jelly, swiss, and turkey panini4. Crowley was content with occasionally flicking his tongue out to taste the aroma of the angel’s meal. He wasn’t quite ready to try eating human food as a snake, no matter how delicious it looked. 

The angel chatted about all of the work he had accomplished while Crowley was away, remarking on various books that he had forgotten he owned and about the authors he had once dined with years ago. As Aziraphale sat down at the small table, Crowley untangled himself and began winding down the back of the chair and down onto the floor. A small patch of the late afternoon sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, looking far too tempting for the snake to resist. He coiled around himself. The warmth soaked into his scales and muscles, which were still sore from his long trek earlier. 

“So tell me, Crowley,” Aziraphale began in between mouthfuls, “What made you decide now of all times to test out your snake form? If I recall correctly, you’ve been a bit averse towards it for a few centuries.”

Crowley gave him the closest approximation of an incredulous glare as was possible.

“Oh, that’s right! You cannot speak properly, I’m so sorry, darling! It completely slipped my mind. Somehow…” The same lost, confused expression flashed across his face once more, his eyebrows creasing together, before it all smoothed away into a shy smile. Aziraphale took another bite of his sandwich, savoring it.

It worried Crowley how often his angel did that, lost his train of thought and not remembered Crowley’s current state. _I wonder whether I’ll have to throw myself at him again if I leave his sight for longer than five minutes,_ he thought morosely. He curled in on himself more tightly. The patch of sunlight was also shrinking as the sun sunk further behind the tall city buildings. 

They both sat in companionable, albeit slightly awkward, silence. Aziraphale was positively absorbed in his sandwich, relishing each bite and making his typical little sounds of delight. Crowley would never grow tired of watching his love eat. After some time passed, Aziraphale finally swallowed the last bit of bread and melted cheese. Crowley, having dozed off, lifted his head at the sound of Aziraphale moving his chair back and standing up. The snake trailed after him as the angel put his dishes next to the sink and miracled them clean. Crowley made his way up Aziraphale’s leg and midriff, the angel reaching a hand down to pet his head.

“Since I cannot enjoy your conversation this evening, my dear, I think I shall have to entertain the both of us with some light reading. If that is alright with you, of course.” He beamed down at the snake as he began walking towards the backroom. Crowley leaned his head into the angel’s palm and flicked his tongue to brush against Aziraphale’s wrist in agreement. The stories his angel chose to read aloud for them were usually too dry, boring, and “classic” for his tastes, but Crowley indulged him anyway. Plus the calm, soothing tones of Aziraphale’s voice were perfect to doze off to. Crowley wanted nothing more than to fall asleep while wrapped around his love, pretending for a few hours that the stress and worries of the day had never happened. 

Aziraphale picked out a book from a stack on his desk and sat down on his favorite chair. He snapped and one of the lamps switched on, filling the room with a warm, comfortable glow. Crowley readjusted himself and nestled comfortably around the angel’s shoulders. The angel chuckled. “Are you quite settled down now, love?” Without waiting for a response from the snake, Aziraphale opened the book and began reading it aloud. Crowley didn’t pay any attention to the actual words or the events of the story5, focusing only on the rise and fall of Aziraphale’s deep chest as he breathed and the sonorous tones of his voice. Crowley was mildly surprised to find himself enraptured by the angel’s reading, relishing in every syllable and not wanting to fall asleep. After a few hours, though, Crowley’s mind finally began drifting off and felt the inviting darkness of sleep edging in around his vision. 

_We’ll figure out something in the morning, angel… I trust you… Everything is going to be fine…_

…………

_POP!_

Crowley’s entire body slammed face down into cold concrete. 

He gasped in a mixture of pain and surprise at what had to have been the rudest, most painful way he had ever woken up. 

“What the blessed Heaven–?”

A headache started to pound away behind his eyes. Crowley turned his head to its side and looked around. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Oh you have got to be joking…”

He was back in the room. 

There was now a small lamp with a blood-red lampshade standing next to the nightstand. It casted long, overbearing shadows across the walls, making the room even more ominous and uninviting. Crowley stared down at the summoning circle beneath him. A faint white glow of the symbols carved into the floor faded away. Crowley acknowledged that at least no one was manhandling him this time around. However, it took someone to be in the same room to do the summoning. So if there were no lackeys around, that must mean…

“Did you enjoy your day out, Crowley?” A smooth voice said from above him. Edael.

 _I don’t have time for this shit._ Crowley looked over at her, seeing the hem of her dress— frayed and covered in wisps of spiderwebs— a few feet away from his face. The harsh lighting caused her face to look even more pallid. He grimaced but then gave her the most forced, fake smile he could muster. 

“Lord Edael, hi. I like the new lighting, all nice and spooky in here now. Anyways, fancy running into you, it’s been far too long. What’s it been, seven, eight hours?”

He began pushing himself up onto his elbows so he wouldn’t feel quite so insignificant and powerless at the Prince’s feet, only to find himself forcefully shoved back down by her boot. His nose smacked into the concrete once again. 

“You stay right where you are, snake" Edael said cooly as she stepped over him. "I prefer you down on the ground, it suits you.” She sat on the foot of the bed and stared down at him. Several spiders scattered out from her dress, seeking shelter in the darkness beneath the bed. 

Crowley glared down at the cold floor in front of him. Hatred, resentment, and a dash of shame curled around where his heart was technically located6. Gathering what dignity and ease he could muster, Crowley shifted onto his side, resting his head onto his hand. He may not have any control of the situation, but that didn’t mean he had to play completely by her rules.

“So’s this gonna happen every time I walk out that door, you whisking me back into this hellhole? You couldn’t possibly have missed me already.” A laconic smile twitched at the edge of his mouth.

Edael’s expression was almost innocent as she calmly replied, “Of course not. That would get old far too quickly. Tonight I simply wanted to check in and see how you liked being a snake.” She absently circled a long, sharp fingernail around the silky comforter. “Can’t let you have too much fun out there and forget about my exemplary offer.”

“Rather hard to forget about it, what with the whole not-talking-or-shape-shifting bit.” 

The Prince narrowed her eyes with a thin-lipped smile forming. “Yes, I would think so. And how did that angel lover of yours take the news about your situation?”

Crowley hesitated, unsure of what to say. If he even hinted at how difficult it was to get Aziraphale to see him, let alone remember that Crowley was a mute snake, she would gloat over how efficient her curse was. On the other hand, if he said that Aziraphale handled it just fine and there was no problem whatsoever, she might get suspicious. If she thought Crowley could somehow effectively communicate with the angel and eventually warn him about the situation, that would be the end of it all for the both of them. He decided to go the (somewhat) honest route.

“It went fine.” 

Edael must have sensed his hesitancy because her thin smile shifted into a full-out, dangerously hungry grin. “I’m sure it did.”

Crowley suppressed a shiver. Fidgeting, he bent his knee up and draped his arm across it, hoping that his casual attitude masked his discomfort at Edael eyeing him over like he was a five-course meal at the Ritz. 

“You still haven’t answered my question about how often exactly I’m going to find myself back here, y’know. I’ve learned to not overlook the little things with you. Devil’s in the details and all that.”

Acting as if she chose not to acknowledge Crowley, Edael stood up and began examining the small potted plant on the nightstand. The leaves began trembling ever so slightly. Crowley couldn’t help but feel protective of the poor thing. 

“I told you. Whenever I feel like you need a reminder of what a golden opportunity I’m offering here. It could be every day, maybe once a week, in the middle of your lunch, or at sunset. I’m not beholden to any particular schedule, time is of no matter to me. My duties in Hell have been a bit lax these days, now that you’ve ruined the perfectly awful future demon-kind were going to have after the Apocalypse.” 

Edael set the plant down and moved closer to tower over Crowley. “I don’t have to give you some sort of timetable for your personal convenience. I’m doing this purely because I’m bored and want some excitement.” She smiled again. The shadows stretching at the corners of her mouth made it look even wider and more menacing. “This is going to be as much fun for me as it is going to be absolute _torture_ for you, snake.”

An anxious hiss slipped past Crowley’s gritted teeth, and he couldn’t stop himself from glaring up at the Prince. The fear and stress from earlier that day had returned at full force by this point, causing a cacophony of emotions that he was simply too tired to properly keep in check. Crowley wanted to get up off of the cold, hard floor, he wanted Edael to shut up already and _leave him alone_ , and he especially wanted to go back to sleep. He needed to recharge, mentally and physically. He now had to figure out how he was going to handle getting yanked around and summoned at any and all hours of the day. 

Under normal conditions, Aziraphale would be worrying himself into an over-anxious wreck over why Crowley was seated next to him one moment and gone the next. Unfortunately, things were not normal. _He probably hasn’t even noticed I’ve gone again and is still absorbed in his book._ That thought did nothing to help Crowley feel better.

Eyes still locked with hers, Crowley sat up and stretched out both arms behind him. “I have to give it to you, Edael,” he said as nonchalantly as he could muster. “You’re putting in a lot of work for trying to snag one disgraced demon. From all I’d heard about you, you usually go out, sneak around some unsuspecting demons, and bite them on the neck until they give in. Now…you’re putting up such a fuss for little old me. It’s flattering, really.”

Edael narrowed her black eyes, her face a mix of confusion and suspicion. “Is this your way of groveling at my feet, serpent?”

“Oh, no, no no no, wouldn’t dream of ever insulting either of our intelligences like that.” Crowley managed to slouch even more comfortably on his arms. “No, I’m honestly surprised that you’re willing to go to such lengths to get me to say yes. All these precautions and summonings and brandings, it’s so elaborate. Takes some real planning and cleverness to pull this off. I didn’t know you had it in you.” He smirked up at her.

Edael stared blankly down at him, as if processing what he just said. Then, once Crowley’s insult had finally registered, shock and anger crossed the Spider Queen’s face. She stepped closer, the reddish glow of the lamp casting evil shadows all over her body. More spiders fled out from underneath her long sleeves, skittered across her clenched hands like black lightning, and disappeared into the deep folds of her skirt. She opened her mouth as if to say something but decided against it. Instead, she quickly scanned over his body and locked eyes with him once more, looking downright ravenous. Crowley gulped hard and felt terribly small, but his gaze didn’t waver. Edael curled her lip and spat at him. 

Crowley flinched, waiting for the wad of spit to hit him on the cheek. Instead, a heavy weight struck his upper chest and forced him down on his back. His breath was knocked out of him. Crowley noticed that he couldn’t sit up for some reason. He craned his head down and saw thick, dense, and extremely sticky cobwebs were covering his entire chest and upper arms, pinning him to the floor. 

Edael’s voice chilled him. “I said that you are to stay on the ground where you belong, snake.”

Crowley struggled to loosen the webbing, panic overriding his instincts to actually listen to the Prince. He began pulling away at it with his hands as much as he could in the awkward position. Crowley immediately froze when Edael set one of her feet on his chest and glared down at him.

“You will learn soon enough that I will _not_ tolerate that kind of disrespect. Unless you want to make things so. Much. Worse. For yourself.” She dug in her pointed heel deeper into his chest with each word. “Do you understand me?”

“…Yeah, I do.”

Edael gave him a curt nod and moved her foot off of him.

“One quick question, though. Is there another type of disrespect that you’d tolerate? Y’know, for future reference.”

The Prince of Hell stared at him. She curled her upper lip and snapped her fingers. The lamp turned off, leaving the room in complete darkness. This was no problem for Crowley and his ability to see in the dark, of course, but it still unnerved him. He didn’t like the idea of being trapped on the floor in a pitch-black room with a pissed off demon lord. He could still see her eyes boring down on him, cold and cruel and heartless. Crowley swore that he could see a few other pairs of small eyes glistening in the dark. He waited for her to strike or spit more cobwebs onto him.

Instead, Edael walked towards the door and looked back at him as she opened it.

“A small word of advice, snake,” she spat out. “Unlike me, this storage facility has a schedule and working business hours. The front door will be locked until morning. You’re welcome to slither around these halls all night, but there’s no getting back to your feathered idiot for a few more hours. So I suggest that you get comfortable in here.” She smiled, though it was more of a disgusted sneer. “Until next time, Crowley.” Edael closed the door behind her.

The demon finally managed to wriggle free of the strong cobwebs and brushed them off of his clothes the best he could. Blood pounded in his ears. Crowley let his head fall back down onto the floor, trying to pace his breathing and calm down7. He dug the heel of his palms into his eyes and then ran trembling fingers through his auburn hair. Crowley let out a long, frustrated yell. 

* * *

Aziraphale, comfortable and content in his favorite chair, shivered. He noticed that the familiar, warm, heavy presence had suddenly left, leaving his upper body exposed to the cool air. He stopped reading and looked down at his shoulders, wondering if Crowley had merely shifted around him. To his mild surprise the snake was nowhere to be seen. 

“Did you get bored with the story, my dear?” He asked apparently no one. Crowley must have found a secluded, quiet place to fall asleep. 

Fairly disappointed that the snake left without so much as a good-bye kiss, Aziraphale grabbed a flannel blanket from the floor and draped it across his lap. He set the book down and picked up another one that he had been meaning to finish for some time now. “That demon is acting so strange today. But no matter. I’m sure he’d tell me if something was wrong. Not that there should be, Heaven and Hell can’t possibly be bothering us again so soon.” 

The angel settled further into the old chair, content and eager for more quiet reading. Not a worry in his mind, he was immediately lost and absorbed in a fictional world.

Aziraphale did not notice the grey wolf spider high up near the corner of the ceiling. Its fuzzy legs were busy at work with the beginnings of a small, delicate web. 

* * *

1\. It was like cardamom, cinnamon, and old leather with undertones of something sharp and bitter. [Back]

2\. Even if he could take them to the extreme sometimes, like that particularly tall top hat he wore in the mid-19th Century. [Back]

3\. A reaction he would even have had as a human with full powers of speech. [Back]

4\. Which toasted itself; Aziraphale didn’t have the modern, technological kitchen appliances that Crowley had. [Back]

5\. It had something to do with some poor boy trying to find a long lost uncle, or possibly aunt, and a horse may have been involved. [Back]

6\. Demons don’t really have hearts or need them, what with being the immortal damned and all. But he wasn’t exactly an exemplary demon, not to mention how Aziraphale would tease him by saying that he had sole possession of Crowley’s heart. [Back]

7\. He had found some tapes in a thrift store during the 1980s on meditation. He had only ever listened to them once, but some things had stuck with him through the years. [Back]


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Several months, a global pandemic, and a thesis later*
> 
> So… 2020, amirite everybody??
> 
> Good gosh, I did not mean to take such a long hiatus, sorry everyone! Unless you're reading this for the first time, then everything is great here, don't worry about it!!! In the midst of *everything* I struck a bit of writer's block with this chapter. But where I'm basically done with school now, and I have a good idea of what's ahead in this fic (I'm very very excited mwahahaha), hopefully it won't be nearly a year before the next update ;) All of the thanks to my wonderful, brilliant beta Mercury Starlight for support, friendship, and just overall awesomeness ^_^ <3 <3 <3 <3

And so the days passed in this way, with Crowley coming and going from the bookshop – not so much as he pleased, but as he was forced to. His summonings were completely at random, the poor snake could never work out any kind of pattern. One day he had been called back to the room twice while he was still making his way towards Soho. Another time he went almost four days without finding himself slamming face first into the concrete floor. On average, however, Crowley would be pulled away from Aziraphale’s warm presence every other day. He never saw Edael nor her lackeys when he was summoned, which was a slight comfort to Crowley. The demon would, however, oftentimes see several spiders scurrying away into a dark corner. That was less comforting. 

This went on for several weeks, and the angel was none the wiser about Crowley’s strange behavior. Thankfully he seemed to always recognize and see the demon, no more leaping out of bookcases for Crowley. Unfortunately that did not make him feel any better about everything else. Sometimes Aziraphale would stop mid-sentence, a brief look of confusion flashing across his eyes, looking as if he remembered an important document he left in an old room hundreds of years ago, but then would return to his beatific, oblivious self and resume talking to a disheartened and very tired snake. With all of the long-distance slithering Crowley was putting in these days, he was beginning to imagine that he could sign up for some marathon or test of endurance and actually do a decent job1. Recently he had stumbled across a bus stop close to the storage facility, so Crowley had begun taking advantage of that as often as possible. He had to be careful about getting trampled getting on and off of it, and he normally curled up as small as he could underneath a seat. 

One night Crowley was forced back into the room sometime around 1:00 AM. He and the angel had had a lovely night in with a delicious-smelling Italian dinner and soft jazz on the record player. They had been drinking – well, Aziraphale had been. Crowley had only tasted some rosé out of a small teacup, most definitely ignoring the image that he looked like a damn puppy lapping up its water while doing so. With his evening so rudely interrupted, Crowley saw no reason as to why he shouldn’t continue drinking on his own once he had found himself whisked away once more.

“I just feel like – I feel like you’re not listening very well, Frederick. D-did I say something t’offend you? Anythin’? No? Oh, bugger off, ya nosy bugger-bug-bu… uhhh, bug.” 

Crowley took another long swig from his nearly-empty bottle as his focus kept sliding off of the potted plant in front of him. 

The demon had been drinking solidly for five hours at this point. He had miracled several of his favorite, strongest alcohol bottles from his flat into his little prison. If Edael was going to force him to spend his nights there, he was going to enjoy it. Or at least make everything somewhat bearable. There were still a few more hours to go before he would be free to leave. Until then, Crowley had no intention of sobering up a drop.

He was splayed out all across the bed on his stomach, his left hand dangling a green bottle that may have been brandy, but might also have been sherry, over the side. His glasses were askew as he continued his one-sided argument with the small, unassuming plant.

“Don’ look at me like that! All judgey and frowny like I just burnt your parents. … Do plants even have parents? Must have, or else where’d we all get the li’l baby plants, eh? Don’t suppose petunias write back to their parents, though… Where’d they get all the, the…” He gestured wildly with his free hand, “the stantion’ry? All that postage an’ whatnots?” He looked expectantly up at Frederick, waiting for an answer. After about a minute, Crowley shrugged and took another sip from the bottle. 

“ ‘S not like I want t’be here, Freddy. ‘Cuz I don’t, honest! What, y’think I like being in here all night, drinking by m’self with the looming threat of inev- _hic_ -’tble Doom hanging over my head? I thought I was done with all that! Hell ordering me about, telling me who to tempt how and where and when…” Crowley raised the bottle once more to his lips, but stopped. His eyes got a misty, faraway look, and his face became even more crestfallen. “I only wanted to be with Aziraphale. Wanted t’spend every minute, every breath and sunrise with ‘im.” 

He swallowed hard. The demon managed to keep any rebellious tears from falling, although they certainly wanted to. “He doesn’t deserve all of this happening to him. My angel deserves better than waiting for a cursed demon t’ be where he’s s’pposed to be and never showsss up.”

Crowley finally took a long swallow from the bottle, emptying the last of its contents. He tossed it with the others scattered near the corner of the room. Gripped with the sudden urge to call Aziraphale, Crowley pulled out his mobile. Unfortunately but unsurprisingly, reception was terrible. _Of course Edael’d have no common decency to let me make one bloody phone call_ , he thought blearily. The demon sighed, let the mobile slip to the floor, and wriggled onto his back. He managed to do so without getting too tangled up in the blankets, draping a gangly arm over his eyes. 

“Y’know, Francis2, I bet you fifty quid that _ssssstupid_ angel’s prob’ly out there right now doing somethin’ incredibly stupid. Like reading. Organizing his beloved _booksss_. Or, or, or eating a pastry! He loves a good pastry, my angel.” His head flopped over to the side and stared at his beautiful plant. “He’s always doing something incredibly stupid and dumb and ridiculously _him_ , an’ I fall in love with him all over again. Every time,” Crowley sighed.

“Fergus, y’er my best friend right now, mate. I have t’ tell you something. But you have to promissse not to tell _anyone_ , ya got that?” The demon stared hard at his leafy companion3. “I’m scared, Fergus. Not about,” he gestured with his arm wildly, “all this goin’ on with Edael. I’ll sort that out later, I always do. Stood up to _Sssatan_ himself, y’know. No, no, I’m scared…” He hesitated. “‘M scared that I’m not actually feeling real, _True Love_ like humans do ev’ryday, or wot an angel as p’rfect as Aziraphale deserves. I think I can feel love, pretty sure at least. Sure as heaven feels like being in love for all th’ trouble it’s brought me. But _is it enough_ , I wonder? For th’angel to look past all of… _this_ , the demon-ness and temptations and snakey bits. Am _I_ enough?”

Crowley let out a long, loud sigh. “Ohhhhhh blast it to all heaven, Fenton. Look at me, positively _pining_ for someone who’s already in love wi’ me! It’s ridiculous, that’s what that is. You just watch, mate, when I slither on over to that bookshop, th’ angel’s gonna be sipping his chateauneuf du pape reading bloody Tennyson with that bloody blissful look on his face.” He curled up onto his side, clutching the pillow under his head. He blinked once, twice, and then gave in to his drunken exhaustion. Crowley mumbled, “I’ve got nothing t’ worry about. He’s more than safe, you’ll see.”

* * *

Aziraphale was most definitely not sitting in his bookstore sipping a good wine at the moment. 

The angel was making his way through the wreckage of a burnt-down building, doing his best to avoid falling through the weakened floorboards ravaged by a recent fire. The brick exterior may have been still intact, but the interior had not fared nearly as well. Smoke and ash filled the air4, and Aziraphale pulled out one of his white linen handkerchiefs to cover his mouth. Every step he took released a small puff of grey ash around his feet. Everything felt very still, as if frozen in time, an experience Aziraphale was familiar with after several such occasions with Crowley. 

Several hours prior, Aziraphale had accepted Crowley’s sudden absence during the night with a mere shrug and traded his wine for a good book. The warm, comforting fire in the backroom’s fireplace was alive and well throughout the entire night, despite Aziraphale never putting in more logs or coal. It was simply expected of the fire to do its job, and so it did. The fireplace was also sensible enough to know when it was no longer needed and died down at the greying light of dawn. It was at this in-between time, where there were still a few embers glowing but more light was sneaking through the old window panes, that the angel looked up from his reading. 

“Oh, well, look at that. I suppose I should get on with the day before it passes on without me.” Not that the angel necessarily had any plans or (heaven forbid) intentions of opening the shop early. Although, he reasoned, he could get in a few business hours out of the way before Crowley even woke up. No customer would be alert enough to peruse for antique books at 5:45 in the morning. Aziraphale could claim that he was a respectable business owner who still got to see a matinee performance with his demon. Then possibly some strawberry and lemon custard cakes at the patisserie on the way back. Yes, that sounded like a splendid idea. 

The angel placed a worn leather bookmark in the novel and stood up, stretching. He made his way towards the kitchen to start brewing some coffee5. Crowley didn’t typically wake up before 9 o’clock most days, but Aziraphale always made sure there was something for his drowsy demon, and the coffee maker naturally knew to keep everything nice and fresh for as long as necessary. 

Aziraphale made himself some sausage, eggs, and a toasted muffin with locally-sourced butter6 to go with his coffee. He was just sitting down when he heard a soft _thud_ at the backdoor. “Oh! Excellent timing, that must be the morning paper.” His fashion sense, as Crowley frequently reminded him, may be several dozen years dated, but he did like to keep up with current human events. Not to mention how he hoarded almost seventy years’ worth of newspapers in the bookshop, all in the name of preserving local history and whatnot, of course. And ever since the thwarted Apocalypse, Aziraphale had grown to appreciate human activity and goings-on a bit more. 

The angel opened the backdoor and looked at the headline: “Strange Fire Burns Down Historic Building: Local Residents and Police Baffled by Incident”. Beneath it was a blurred picture of an old Victorian townhouse smoldering, smoke and fire licking out of the windows. Aziraphale read the article as he walked over and sat down once more, neglecting his breakfast for a moment7. “Oh dear…” he muttered. “Thank goodness no one was injured, but all of those lovely artifacts…” Apparently, a repurposed home that had served as a local historical society’s museum on tinned cans and other manufactured foods at the turn of the century was set on fire some time during the night. It was not a frequently visited museum, but the neighborhood of retirees and elderly couples took pride in it anyways. The inside and all of its contents had been severely damaged or lost in the fire, but the structure itself sustained little damage. “Nothing will ever top Victorian innovation and standards, thank you very much.” Aziraphale said proudly. 

While the fire itself was noteworthy, as was the loss of a few hundred pounds of historical items and records, what particularly grabbed Aziraphale’s attention were the circumstances surrounding it. “ _One witness, a Mrs. Eugenia Bartsby, claimed to have seen a mysterious man lurking near the house that evening who may have set the building on fire. Several other witnesses confirm seeing a person in dark clothes leaving the scene of the crime right as the fire department arrived._ ” 

Aziraphale scowled down at the paper. While arson was common among humanity, there was clearly something amiss with this specific instance. He couldn’t quite place what exactly was wrong, but now that it piqued his interest, the angel had no intention of dropping the matter. It was as if something was drawing Aziraphale towards the fire. Like an itch that started at the base of your neck that gets worse the longer you ignore it, but once you start scratching it feels so satisfying that you cannot stop. 

Aziraphale was no fool. If he felt like there was something funny about this fire, then it was his responsibility as a Principality and Guardian of Humanity to look into it. If it turned out to be some nefarious individual, then he would be doing his civil duty at bringing the arsonist to justice. And if it was a demon looking to cause trouble, then that would be even better. 

“But why on Earth would demons care about a tin can museum?” He mused. That was the biggest mystery, and one he would not, could not ignore. When Heaven and Hell decided to leave them alone, Crowley and Aziraphale had mutually agreed to follow suit. There had been minor miracles and misdeeds attempted, but the pair had no interest in thwarting them8. Aziraphale was starting to scratch at his curiosity with no intention of stopping. He hadn’t done any sort of investigating since his spy days during the Second World War, and it sounded like a refreshing change.

“Besides,” he said as he got up from the table, “Crowley’s been disappearing so often lately, no doubt to perform wily temptations and cursings, it’s only right that I balance the scales a little.” The angel clapped his hands together. “Yes, this is all going to be very exciting!” 

Aziraphale grabbed his coat as he headed for the door, abandoning his earlier plans of opening the shop for the day. 

He didn’t even think about leaving a note for Crowley to see whenever he decided to wake up.

The angel arrived at the burnt down museum in decent time via taxi, and, making sure no one noticed him slip through the back door, began winding his way through the building. Tin cans of varying sizes littered the floor, some bulged out or exploded from the pressure of the fire’s extreme heat. The floorboards were not severely damaged, but Aziraphale still took care to watch his step in case the integrity of the wood was deceitfully poor. The walls suffered the most damage. Wallpaper was peeling up from the walls, burnt and flaking around the edges, and the wooden slats in some areas had completely fallen to pieces, revealing the other rooms through the wreckage. 

Aziraphale meticulously made his way through the first floor, hoping to spy something odd or unusual in the mess, but to no avail. He noted several tin cans, however, with funny little logos or slogans on them that he remembered fondly from the Turn of the Century9. After spending a good half-hour of exploring and reminiscing, Aziraphale braved the questionable-yet-still-functional stairs to investigate the second floor. The fire damage was not as extensive up there, although there was a strong musty smell from the smoke and stale hydrant water. Tin cans were still lined up neatly on their shelves, and there was even a vintage (albeit waterlogged) rug still intact. 

The angel sighed. For all intents and purposes, there was nothing amiss here. No sign of occult or ethereal forces anywhere. That is… Aziraphale frowned. He felt a faint tingling in his left hand’s fingertips. He held up that hand in front of him and waved it around a bit. The sensation came and went with the movement until he pinpointed that the tingling was strongest when his hand stopped over a closet door to the side of him. Stepping closer, the tingling became more intense, moving past his wrist and into his elbow. The angel shivered as a dark feeling crept into his heart. 

“Definitely something occult.”

He opened the door and was unsurprised to find various boxes and cleaning supplies stored there. The dark, very evil feeling flooded through him. Aziraphale gasped and gripped tighter on the door handle as the sensation passed as quickly as it started, like a specter fleeing its grave. Suppressing his nerves, the angel straightened his bowtie before inspecting the cramped space for a cursed object or occult artifact. Rummaging through the boxes for several minutes produced nothing of value. Disappointed and perturbed, Aziraphale started to close the door when something on the floor caught his eye. It was a small cameo neck choker, with a black background and an intricate ebony pattern attached to a black satin ribbon. The angel squatted down and picked it up, running a thumb over the cameo. He stared at the pattern, trying to figure out what image the intercrossing lines and curves formed. But the longer he looked, his vision began to blur and a throbbing headache formed.

“At a guess, this is something truly demonic that I’m not supposed to see. If only Crowley were here to tell me what this is. Heaven certainly knows I could use his help right about now…” He trailed off, vaguely remembering why the demon wasn’t there guarding over him, complaining about the dank smell or pointlessness of the museum. “Well, I could simply ask him about this when I return to the bookshop and see him later today. He’s bound to show up eventually from whatever errands have kept him.” Aziraphale pocketed the cameo. As soon as it was out of sight, both his headache and the light pulsing of occult energy went away. 

Satisfied with his investigation, Aziraphale walked back outside. Breathing the crisp, fresh air was wonderful after spending so long in the dank and smoky building. He then spotted an elderly woman sitting on a lawn chair in her yard, chatting animatedly to a man Aziraphale assumed was her husband. The gentleman was attending to several beautiful bushes of begonias, and did not appear to hear a word of what his wife was saying. The angel recalled the news article mentioning an eye witness to the fire, so he decided to pay her a friendly visit. He crossed the road towards her, and before he could even get close enough to greet her, the woman called out to him. 

“Sir! Yes, yes, you! Have you been trying to get into the museum, dear? I’m sorry to tell you that there’s been a great tragedy to our most beloved little museum, it happened only just last night. It won’t be opening again any time soon, I’m afraid.” 

Aziraphale had just reached the edge of their well-manicured lawn by the time she finished, rather taken aback by how it seemed that she did not need to breathe while talking so much. Going along with her assumption that he was a museum patron, he put on a disappointed air and sighed.

“Yes, I read about that in the paper just this morning. It is such a disappointment to lose all of that history. I had heard such wonderful things about the displays on the, er, corned beef tins.”

At his mention of the newspaper, the woman beamed. “Oh, then you must have read about my exclusive eye witness account! Of course, they did not include my interview in the piece, which is a shame. I was quite thorough.” She extended a frail hand out to Aziraphale. “Mrs. Eugenia Bartsby, pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister–?”

“Fell, Mister Fell, thank you. And the pleasure is all mine.” He delicately took her hand as he bowed over it and placed a brief kiss on the knuckles, remembering that this was customary to do when meeting an octogenarian. Of course, that may have been several decades out of fashion, but the gesture made Mrs. Bartsby giggle and blush anyway. “So do tell me, Mrs. Bartsby, whatever happened last night?”

“Well,” she leaned forward with a delighted sparkle in her eyes, “I’ve been having a case of the night shivers lately, something that’s plagued me since I was a little girl, and last night was truly something else. It couldn’t have been past three o’clock in the morning when I got up to make myself some tea to warm up. I do like a good cuppa chamomile on nights like that, especially with just a little bit of honey, wouldn’t you know.” 

It took all of Aziraphale’s angelic patience and good manners to smile and nod. “Yes, that all sounds very lovely. But what about the fire?”

“Well, after my second cup, I saw movement outside. Nothing in my own yard of course, I would have gone into hysterics! Though this neighborhood isn’t what it once was, if you understand my meaning,” Mrs. Bartsby gave him a pointed look. Before he could begin to respond, she plowed ahead. “As I peered out the window, I noticed a strange man standing underneath the lamppost right out there in front of the museum. And what do I mean by ‘strange’, you may ask?”

“I was about to, yes–”

“What I mean is _strange_ , Mr. Fell! This morning while all the fire trucks and news reporters were out and about, I told my husband Morris – he’s the one over there pruning the begonias – I told him, ‘Morris, I have never in my life seen such a man!’ He was all dressed up looking like he had stepped right out of an old show from back in the day. Not that my mother ever approved of that type of entertainment, mind, she was very conservative, but I snuck out at night anyways to see those delightful Vaudevillian plays. Anyways, I distinctly remember seeing this man wearing a pair of old trousers and a top hat as if he stepped right out of some Dickens television special! Which I find those extremely dull, and there are far too many these days.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t have the faintest idea about all that,” the angel said with a thin smile. _It truly is a blessing that Crowley isn’t here for all of this, I’d never hear the end of his complaints_.  
  
Mrs. Bartsby continued, her short white curls bouncing for added emphasis and dramatics. “This man started walking around the museum, see, like he’s finding the weakest point to get in to. He tries opening every door to the place, but of course it’s after hours so they’re all locked. I got distracted at this point, my cat Rutherford decided to knock over my potted orchid.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips, his patience waning. But as she continued, he found his attention returning quite pointedly.

“I didn’t look away but for a moment, but next I looked, he was inside!” The woman lowered her voice, sounding conspiratorial. “I saw him rustling through the curtains. Heaven knows how he got in. I was reaching for the phone to call the police about a potential burglary when I saw a spark come flying out of his hands. It must have been some sort of lighter. _That_ is when the museum caught fire, and oh, what a fire!” She clapped her hands together to emphasize the scale of the fire. As if Aziraphale ever doubted that, considering the state of the museum. “I’ve never seen such a fierce blaze, or one that spread so fast! The whole building was near in ruins after not even five minutes, if you can believe that. But it was so odd… The fire didn’t spread to the buildings right next to it. Not so much as a scorch mark! I never did see that man leave, either.”

Aziraphale blinked, startled by the sudden end to her long tale. Mrs. Bartsby stared expectantly up at him, waiting for an adequate enough response to match her enthusiasm.

“Well, that sounds like you had quite the ordeal, Mrs. Bartsby. I’m sure your information was very helpful to the police and other authorities. And I’d love to chat some more with you, but oh look!” He snapped softly. “My taxi has just arrived, and I really must be going.”

“Think nothing of it, Mr. Fell, I’m just an old lady who can prattle on and on and on about everything, I could likely talk both your ears off before lunchtime!” She cackled.

The angel smiled politely, “Yes, there’s no doubt about that. Thank you again, Mrs. Bartsby, you’ve been most helpful. May you and your long-suffering husband never experience your so-called ‘night shivers’ again and that you both have a relaxing weekend.” 

With that said and before she could start talking again, Aziraphale hopped into the taxi and headed back to Soho, eager to tell Crowley everything.

* * *

Upon his return to the bookshop, Aziraphale was immediately accosted by a long red-and-black snake slithering out from the back office. 

“Oh, hello, Crowley! I’ve just come back from a most intriguing excursion. Why don’t I make us some tea and I tell you all about it?”

The snake wound his way up a tall pile of books until he was practically at eye level with the angel. Despite having no eyelids, Crowley could still give the most surly of glares. Aziraphale noticed that the snake seemed to be exuding an air of tiredness, as if he had just woken up from a particularly restless nap. Thankfully, he knew how to deal with his grouchy demon, human form or not. 

“Now there’s no need to be so put-off, my dear. I simply stepped out to do a bit of investigating. Honestly, I’m surprised to see you here at all. I was expecting to return before you even noticed I had left.” He reached out to stroke Crowley’s resplendent, scaled head. Crowley’s snake form truly was beautiful, Aziraphale would never lie about that. As his hand brushed down his neck, Crowley leaned his head into the angel’s soft touch. Some of the severity left the snake’s glare, though not entirely. 

“I think some tea would do wonders for the both of us, Crowley. Come on, I’ll carry you if you’d like.”

At this, the snake reached out and wrapped around Aziraphale’s midsection until he was comfortably settled around his shoulders and stomach. 

Several minutes and two cups of jasmine tea later10, the angel and demon were comfortably nestled together in Aziraphale’s reading chair in the back office. The serpent seemed to have relaxed considerably and was no longer casting side-eyed glares at Aziraphale. Crowley wrapped around the angel’s arms and shoulders so tightly it was almost uncomfortable, but the pressure was a welcome sensation nonetheless. After millennia of keeping their distance, Aziraphale relished every moment of physical contact with his beloved. The angel sighed in contentment. Crowley nuzzled his snout closer into Aziraphale’s neck. 

Aziraphale found himself dozing off, succumbing to the warmth generated both by his tea and the deliciously infernal heat of his snake, when he jerked his head up. 

“Oh! I nearly forgot to tell you all about my little investigation from this morning!” 

Crowley barely lifted his head and gave Aziraphale a smug look that likely meant, “I certainly didn’t forget, but I was curious to see if you ever would remember and wasn’t about to bring it up.” 

“Oh hush, you. Don’t act so condescending where you can’t even manage to transform back into a human,” the angel teased. 

The snake stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then looked away.

“Anyway, I was just sitting down to breakfast…” Aziraphale proceeded to tell the whole story from reading the morning’s newspaper, to his searching through the ruined museum, to his conversation with Mrs. Bartlesby. At the first mention of the angel’s suspicions of demonic interference, Crowley stared hard and never looked away. If Aziraphale was paying the slightest attention, he would have caught the growing fear and concern in the serpent’s eyes. Unfortunately for the both of them, he was too enraptured with his tale.

“–And then she told me about the suspicious character dressed in old fashioned clothing enter the building and never saw him leave! If he were a demon, then he most likely miracled himself away. But what I can’t understand is _why_ a demon would be interested in a tin can museum of all places! It makes no sense.” He bit his bottom lip, lost in thought. “I shall have to investigate this further.”

Crowley tensed up and shook his head at the angel, his eyes serious and pleading.

Aziraphale smiled fondly and said, “I know you’re worried, love, but really, I’ll be fine. I think I can manage one demon if it comes to any sort of altercation. Over six thousand years, I have had plenty of practice in ‘wrestling with the adversary’, as it were.” 

Unconvinced, the snake frowned as much as snakishly possible. 

“Perhaps I'll take you with me next time I go out, how does that sound? That way you can be on the lookout for any of your former co-workers and act as my backup. Oh!” The angel’s face lit up. “We would be just like Sherlock Holmes and Watson! Investigating a nefarious and impossible case with the whole of London at risk. Oh, what fun!” Aziraphale couldn’t help a happy wiggle at the thought. Crowley, on the other hand, very dramatically expressed his objection to being a “side-kick” in any capacity by rolling his head back and baring his fangs in disgust. 

The angel chuckled and stroked down along the serpent’s chin. “There’ll be plenty of time for discussing our respective roles and titles later, dear. For now, why don’t I read us some Agatha Christie? I’m quite in the mood for it at present.”

Miracling up several books onto the table next to the chair, Aziraphale settled down and began narrating the top book from the stack. Crowley let out a soft, tired sigh, and set his head back down. 

* * *

A brown spider had joined the small black spider on its web near the ceiling. From opposite sides of the web, they inched closer to a struggling, trapped fly near the center.

* * *

1.“I did have some influence over that Ninja Warrior show over in the states, I’m sure I could wriggle myself onto there…"  [Back]

2\. Crowley was never very good with names when he was sober, let alone when he was mind-bogglingly drunk  [Back]

3\. It was a very unfocused, cross-eyed stare, but a stare nonetheless, and one that the plant was not about to ignore  [Back]

4\. Aziraphale’s clothes remained immaculate, of course, though his shoes were having a rough time of remaining clean  [Back]

5\. Aziraphale enjoyed a good espresso in the morning. It was actually Crowley who favored sweeter beverages on average, even though he’d never admit to the whipped cream and multiple sticky-sweet creamers  [Back]

6\. Aziraphale loved to frequent the farmer’s market and support any struggling vendors. Crowley liked to examine the sunglasses and jewelry stands.  [Back]

7\. But only for a moment, of course. The smell of the sausages was far too delectable to ignore.  [Back]

8\. Aziraphale and Crowley were far too busy making googly-eyes at each other to notice much of anything  [Back]

9\. “Bessie’s Blessed Beans” always gave him a chuckle, even if the food itself was not up to his standards, to say the least. [Back]

10\. Watching Crowley’s serpentine tongue lap up the tea was one of the most endearingly adorable things Aziraphale had ever seen  [Back]

* * *


End file.
